Absolutely Bananas: Seattle mom blog

Back to the FUTURE

Meet Young Jenny. Jenny is in her 20’s. She is young, youthful, and NOT AT ALL old. 

Young Jenny has traveled forward in time with the assistance of her super-snazzy time machine. 

Why has Young Jenny made this dangerous and exciting journey to the future, you ask?

To meet Older Jenny, that’s why. Older Jenny is in her 30’s. She is not so young or youthful, and she is OLDER than Young Jenny.

Young Jenny has embarked on this journey through time with the intent of gleaning wisdom and keen insight from Older Jenny’s aged person.

Older Jenny: Hey! You! Narrator lady! What’s with the aged talk? Don’t you know that 30 is the new 20?

Oh, sorry about that Older Jenny. I didn’t mean to offend.

Young Jenny: But wait a minute. If 30 is the new 20, what does that make me? The new 10?! I think NOT!

Older Jenny: Hmmph. Good point.

So I guess we’ve established that 30 is… well, 30. Now on with this ridiculous tale!

It’s an undisputed fact that with age comes wisdom, better (or at least more expensive) wine, and strongly smelling cheese.

It’s wisdom that our young heroine seeks this day (although she probably wouldn’t say no to the wine and cheese).

Young Jenny: Well, well, well. Look at you… older and more wrinkled. At least you’re still getting around without a cane.

Older Jenny: Watch the sass, girly! Respect your elders!

Young Jenny: Right. So what words of wisdom do you have more me, anyway? Surely you’ve learned something deep and insightful in your EXTRA DECADE of life?

Older Jenny: (Long pause) What are we talking about again?

Young Jenny: (Heaves a deep & weary sigh) YOU WERE GOING TO GIVE ME ADVICE!

Older Jenny: Oh. Of course. Why didn’t you just say so? First off, you need to find yourself a good-fitting pair of jeans. I favor Gap since they make my hiney look supa-fine.

(did you really think I’d post a picture of MY back-side for the whole universe to see? I’m 30, not STUPID)Young Jenny: Good-fitting jeans. (Writes this down on a tablet) Check.

Older Jenny: Next you’ve gotta go out and get yourself a pair of I-don’t-need-a-job-I-don’t-care-if-I-have-wrinkles-I’ve-got-great-boots boots.

Like this.

Young Jenny: Okaaay… (she pauses) Um, can I say something?

Older Jenny: Of course.

Young Jenny: I’m surprised that so many of your recommendations seem to be, well erm, superficial. I thought my 30’s would be all deep and stuff.Older Jenny: (leans in and says in hushed voice) Can you keep a secret?

Young Jenny nods and eagerly waits Older Jenny’s next words.

Older Jenny: If you want deep, GO JUMP IN A LAKE. (she leans back and cackles)

Young Jenny rapidly writes this down. Our heroine, while young, isn’t all that bright.

Young Jenny: Hey! You! Narrator person! I can hear what you’re saying about me, and I don’t appreciate it!

Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize.

Older Jenny laughs…

Young Jenny: Stop laughing! It’s not funny!

Older Jenny: Oh, it’s funny alright…

Narrator: Why is everyone laughing?

… and curtain.

So. What have we learned from today’s tale, let’s discuss.

1) Turning 30 appears to be linked to a marked increase in talking nonsense, BIZARRE BEHAVIOR, and having conversations with and about yourself.

and,

2) If this is your time machine,

you might want to consider staying home.***
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5 reasons why you should know how to Photoshop your head onto someone else’s body

1. Because some day you might be invited to a high school reunion when you’re NOT looking so hot. Photoshop head-transference skills provide you the option to pursue PLAN P- in which you send the organizer a note that goes something like this:

Dear Marsha,

Sadly I will not be able to attend the 20th high school reunion due to pressing concerns brought on by my vast wealth and prestige. However, I am attaching a recent self portrait so that you know what I look like these days. Feel free to print out several poster-sized copies to hang around the reunion.

Cheers,
Jenny

2. Because it’s never a good idea to go into a major hair change without a bit of foresight…

Red is actually kinda fun… but only with black leather pants and killer abs.

Black… not so much. We’ll leave that to Catherine Zeta Jones.

3. Because you can’t pick your family, but sometimes you wish you could. Less than stellar relations are no longer a problem… with Photoshop you can create a NEW family whose portrait will look stunning above the mantel.

You have to understand, CJ, the Angels were my family. The best family I could ask for.

4. Because you wouldn’t want your children to know THE TRUTH about how you spent your younger years (knitting and sipping tea? Come ON!) With Photoshop, your history is yours for the making! Goodbye boring momma, hello fab new me!

This is mommy rock climbing, before you were born.

And this is when I won Miss America.

And THIS is when I was really into body building.

Ahh, the memories.

5. Because while a middle-aged mommy blogger up in Seattle might be a little bit blah, you’re sure as heck gonna sit up and take notice when you see that blogger lady’s profile picture that looks like THIS:

or THIS:
or THIS:

Yes, it’s true. Due to begging, pleading, and otherwise hysterical mobs of readers the likes of which haven’t been seen since Beatles mania*, I have decided to share my magical knowledge of photoshop head-transference with you. Coming soon to a blog near you… Wait for it… wait for it…

*By “begging, pleading, and screaming hysterical mobs of readers the likes of which haven’t been seen since Beatles mania,” I mean a few people have requested it.

It’s up! For a how-to guide, see How to Photoshop your head onto someone else’s body in 19 easy steps.

Battle of the TINY BUMP

This morning I am trying to get CJ out the door to preschool. As usual, we are running ever-so-slightly behind.

Me: CJ, let’s put on your socks and shoes, and then we can go.

CJ: No, YOU put on my socks.

OK…. I’m not gonna fight it… just get him out the door…

I expertly pull on his socks.

Me: Alright, let’s go!

CJ carefully examines the socks, flexing and pointing his toes and running his fingers over the contours of his foot.

CJ: But MOMMY, I feel a BUMP!

Noooooooo!!!!!

Maybe if I ignore it, he’ll stop… it’s never worked before, but WHO KNOWS!

I get my purse. I say NOTHING.

CJ: MOMMY! I feel a tiny bump! Right THERE!

I still say nothing.

CJ: MOMMMMMMY!!! LISTEN TO ME!

Yeah, the ignoring thing isn’t working. Shocker.

Me: CJ, if you just pretend it’s not there, it’ll go away.

CJ: BUT MOMMY THERE’S A BUMP AND I CAN FEEL IT!!!

aaaarrrggghhhh!!!

CJ: I want my SKELETON socks!

Me: But your skeleton socks are dirty, CJ. How about if I wash them today and you can wear them tomorrow.

CJ: BUT I WANT THEM NOW!!! THIS SOCK HAS A TINY BUMP THAT I CAN FEEL! (he rips of the offending sock and throws it at me)

Me: Well, run downstairs and get the skeleton socks. You can wear them dirty.

CJ goes downstairs. A few minutes later he re-emerges WITHOUT the socks.

Me: CJ! Where are the skeleton socks?

We are now OFFICIALLY very late.

CJ: They were dirty.

Me: I KNOW they’re dirty… I TOLD YOU that!

You know? I can’t even remember how the story ends. Which is funny because it just happened this morning. I must have blocked it out of my mind… you know, because of the trauma and all.

But seriously, I am at my WIT’S END with the sock battles. We have them EVERY MORNING. Well, except the mornings when the skeleton socks are actually clean. Which is rare.

Why is clothing this child SUCH a battle?

Why can’t he be more PASSIVE and OBEDIENT?

The Battle of the Tiny Bump just might do me in.

Which is a rather pathetic way to go, done in by a TINY BUMP in a four-year old’s sock. But there it is.

GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD!!!!

***
DON’T FORGET to enter the Deceptively Delicious Giveaway… tomorrow is the LAST DAY!

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In which I am nearly decapitated by a falling box of condoms

NOTE TO FAMILY MEMBERS: Jay most ardently urges that you NOT read this post. If you do decide to take the plunge and read it, please be advised that it is absolutely not true at all. We do NOT have condoms in our household. We do NOT have a use for condoms because we don’t engage in any, erm, “acts” that would require them. Ever. NOT EVEN ONCE! And if you INSIST on reading AND believing what you read, please have the courtesy to pretend you never saw it. On with the show…!

This afternoon I had the most terrifying experience. A NEAR-DEATH experience… the kind where your life flashes before your eyes.

We recently installed a brilliant wardrobe system in our “master” (ha!) bedroom to help compensate for the teeny-tiny-so-small-just-blink-and-you-could-miss-it “closet.”

Our new wardrobe looks like this:

It has these little holes in the top for lights, so that you can have AMBIANCE of the most romantic and seductive nature. Excellent. I do enjoy ambiance, romance AND seduction, and of course a good shelf or two. What’s not to love?

The only problem is, the lights have this long and clunky cord, which we cannot figure out what to do with.

So the wardrobe system ACTUALLY looks like this:

it’s like a giant iPod gone amuck!

Now something else you need to know is that I have this small cedar jewelry box that I’ve had, like, forever.

Oddly enough my house seems to be full of little boxes of varying shapes and sizes… glass, wood, ceramic, metal… it doesn’t matter what they’re made of because what’s inside is almost always the same; a sad assortment of buttons, half-used erasers, hair berets, safety pins, pennies, gum wrappers and really really old receipts. Me, organized? Naaaaah…

Anyway, THIS particular cedar box is put to an other, more titillating use.

Witness,

Ahem.

ANYWAY, my darling husband, man of the hour, light of my life, and apple of my eye, came up with the rather LESS THAN brilliant idea to use said cedar box to hold back the offending cord by placing it way up high on top of the wardrobe with cord behind. As the box is rather heavy, its weight will keep the cord in place.

Anyone see anything wrong with this plan? Anyone?

ANYONE??

I was getting something out of one of the drawers, when I somehow yanked the dangling light cord with my elbow, pulling down the VERY HEAVY and SHARP-EDGED box of condoms….

RIGHT ON MY HEAD!

Well, ALMOST right on my head.

The deathly device missed my head, but only barely, and spread blue Trojans in its wake.

CUE FLASHING OF LIFE BEFORE EYES…

I survived within an inch of my life.

And it’s true what they say. When you survive a near-death experience, everything seems sweeter. The sky seems bluer. The sun seems SHINIER. And the condoms spread across the bedroom floor? They seem almost joyful in all their blue Trojan brilliance.

Even so, I’ve decided to move the cedar box from its lofty perch.

Why tempt fate?

***
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Blogger brown is the new black

A few weeks back Jay and I did a massive overhaul of our bedroom closets. 17 bags to the Good Will later, I feel mostly certain that my closet contains NOTHING that shouldn’t be there. So, when I saw that PBN was hosting a contest in which you’re supposed to post pictures of horrifying wardrobe items, I thought Oh ho ho… that doesn’t apply to ME!

But then I remembered…

it

The t-shirt…

Hidden away in my drawer…

And I knew I had to come clean.

Back when I was at BlogHer, sponsors gave out t-shirts galore. Most of them, in my never-to-be-humble opinion, were hideously ugly. I either refused them on the spot or gave them away to my unsuspecting roommates.

But there was this one…

I was walking down the hallway between sessions, hurrying to try and ensure a place at the table (those were the only spots with plug-ins), when I had a strange encounter.

Jessica (you know, of Oh the Joys fame) was walking towards me. RIGHT towards me. Is this some of weird game of chicken? I wondered as she bore down on me… A blogger hazing of sorts?

And then, at the last possible second, she veered left just enough to keep from running into me, and thrust a bundle into my hands. “Keep it or pass it on.” she whispered, in a husky secret-agent kind of voice, and then she was gone.

I looked down. My hands held a brown rolled-up t-shirt. Nooooo!!! My mind howled in despair, I’ve been duped into accepting a t-shirt! All my efforts are for naught! The only question was on which poor soul I would deposit this undesirable item.

But then a sort of funny thing happened.

I brought the t-shirt back to the hotel with me, unrolled it and gave it a good look. And, sort of like the three-legged, flea-bitten dog that follows you home, I realized that I’d grown rather fond of it.

It’s a t-shirt, which of course goes on the “cons” column. But it’s brown, and it says “blogger”. Ok, ok, so Blogger is the name of Google’s blogging product, and it has a big fat orange Google Blogger logo lest you be confused. So that’s again in the “cons”. But still… there’s a sad pathetic little part of me that LIKES having a t-shirt that says ‘blogger’ on it.

So I brought it home.

And started wearing it, proudly. (But just around the house.)

One night after the shirt had made several appearances, I noticed Jay looking at me funny.

“WHAT?!” I demanded.

“Um, you’re not going to wear that shirt, like in public, are you?” he asked.

Funny thing about me, I actually wasn’t planning on wearing it in public. But the fact that he asked got my hackles up. “WHY?” I demanded, “Don’t you LIKE it?”

“Well, it’s ok for around the house… but it’s a little dorky.” he admitted, “I mean it’d be like if I wore a shirt that said ‘Designer.’”

“WELL I LIKE IT!” I announced huffily, and marched out of the room.

I still wear it. I still like it. It passed the very rigorous closet-clearing inspection a few weeks back. It made an appearance at the Oregon Coast this past weekend, and I’m wearing it this very minute as I type.

But now I turn to you, dearest of readers, closest of friends, scariest of Internet stalkers and plagiarists, and I ask with the deepest sincerest wanting to know,

Is it dorky?

Should I purge it from my wardrobe?

Now, before you answer, you might be interested to see some photos of OTHER PEOPLE who wear the very same t-shirt. Because I think I just might have started a trend…

(Yes, that’s Angelina)

Even party girls Britney and Paris are wearing them.

Madonna? Well she certainly knows fashion…

Even the Queen Mum! They say those Brits are fashion forward…

Is that… Can it be?… Bigfoot! He’s real! And he’s wearing a blogger tee! Will wonders never cease…Yep, I think I’m gonna have to keep it.

***

Thanks to Shannon at Believer in Balance for awarding this post a Perfect Post award!